Subtitled “Renaissance and Contemporary Choral Works,” this disc follows on from the choral ensemble luminatus’ O beata Virgo Maria, reviewed previously by William Kempster in Fanfare 48:1. I agree wholeheartedly with my colleague about the standard of the choir. The recording space (St Mary’s, Woburn) seems quite tight here, so I do wonder if the recording locales are different, as Kempster refers to a “large reverberant space.”
It is good to juxtapose the old and the new. Here it is Cipriano de Rore who kicks things off with the motet Ad te levavi oculos meos, heard as an independent piece (it was published by Angelo Gardano as part of his 1595 Sacrae Cantiones quae ducuntur motecta). There is an excellent recording, for voices and instruments, as “Interludium I” of de Rore’s Passio Domini Nostri Jesu Christi secundum Johannem, by the Huelgas Ensemble on Deutsche Harmonia Mundi. The performance here is beautiful, too, and finely sculpted. It forms a different function in the present context, though, as it is the basis of the next piece.
It is good to hear the motet prior to its parody Mass, Philippe de Monte’s five-part Missa Ad te levavi oculos meos. (There is, incidentally, a motet Ad te levavi by de Monte, recorded on Hyperion by the vocal group Cinquecento.) It is fascinating to hear the de Rore blossom into an extended, here preparatory, statement of faith. The way luminatus holds the pitch under de Monte’s difficult writing is spellbinding; his writing in the Kyrie is often bare, onto which he slathers layer after layer of texture. In contrast, the Gloria is remarkably richly scored, almost decadently so. It is, though, almost self-effacing in terms of a statement of glory to God, as the structure of the Mass would contradict such grandeur: The central Credo is longer than the Kyrie and Gloria put together (or, for that matter, the Sanctus and Agnus Dei combined). The music for the Credo seems to revolve slowly, a remarkable illusion; the music is unhurried here. The flow between sections is extremely well managed, and there is a lightness of texture that suits the music well. The Sanctus and Benedictus are tracked together. All credit is due to the sopranos for managing such control in the Sanctus, and for the lower voices’ tuning in the trickier passages (very definitely—plural trickiness). The final Agnus Dei is remarkably affecting, now feeling more like a slow ascent than a planar revolving. Just a touch more definition in the lower voices would have sealed the deal.
The liner notes are quite correct to say the works of Ippolito Baccusi are little known. Gustave Reese, in his massive Music in the Renaissance, bats Baccusi away with flick of his pen when discussing “The Lesser Madrigalists: The Decline,” referring to Baccusi as an “average Italian madrigalist,” and grouping him with Orolingio, Eremita, and Massaino (of whom more soon), not to mention “dozens more.” Even imslp.com has little to say on Baccusi. There is only one (unnamed) piece by Baccusi in the Fanfare Archive, on a disc of 24 madrigals entitled Symphonia Angelica (Fanfare 14:2, from 1990). Nearly 35 years later, here’s two pieces for which we should of course be grateful, although perhaps one should remember that The King’s Singers recorded Baccusi’s Un giorno a pale sacro for Signum (Il trionfo di Dori), and that there is a more substantive (but not much) offering on Tactus’ release I diporti della villa in ogni stagione, Venezia 1601. The first piece on Convivium is a five-part Salve Regina that starts from so close to silence as to make no difference. There is magic here, not least in the purity of the sopranos’ upward slur. That opening, though, sets a trend, as entries can seem to appear from nowhere with a sort of organic inevitability. The three parts of the text are nicely delineated, though. Far sprightlier is the invigorating Cantabant sancti canticum novum.
It is good to see this group returning to the music of Tiburtio Massaino (sometimes given as “Massaini”). All three pieces heard here were published in Prague (Massaino was rather well traveled). There is, to supplement this Massaino-Fest, a splendid recording of the five-voice Sicut cedrex on a Deutsche Harmonia Mundi/ORF (Austrian Radio) release with the long title Musik am Salzburger Fürstenhof gewidmet Wolf Dietrich von Raitenau. The Bachchor Salzburg is radiant there, though. Here, luminatus initially offers Salvatorem expectamus, but the singing is less characterful; I can see how my colleague William Kempster might well have found it easy to dismiss Massaino’s music. The next piece, O Domine Jesu Christe, is rather different, exuding an inner radiance, before the gem of Ne timeas Maria. The text is placatory to the Virgin Mary, a veritable tapestry of textures gently revealed with a sense of inevitability by luminatus.
And so we come to the music of our time, beginning with pieces by Agneta Sköld (b. 1947), not to be confused with the long-lived Ingve Sköld (1899–1992). Her two pieces are in English and highly beautiful: The sway of “Lullay, lullay” that opens the Corpus Christi Carol (and indeed returns during the course of that piece) is most effective. Dissonances are carefully considered, and the choir gives them their full due at arrival points. The hymnic opening to God be merciful cedes to moments of joy. From what seems initially to be a simple setting emerges a lovely miniature tone poem.
Even more recent talent joins the party in the form of Becky McGlade, born in 1974 and trained at Royal Holloway College of the University of London (she currently resides in Cornwall). With a text from the Book of Revelation, I saw a new heaven moves from a decidedly dolorous mood to a radiant A Major. Luminatus is beautifully balanced here; McGlade’s other piece is the track from which the disc takes its name, Love Divine, tautly written if not, in this instance, particularly memorable.
Finally, there comes a piece by Eleanor Daley, whose music has previously turned up on a Christmas album by Gesualdo Six (Fanfare 43:3). Her Christina Rossetti setting, All ye who taste that love is sweet, indeed has a purity about it, as does the upper voices’ unanimity of delivery. The cries of “Rise up” are well done, and in keeping with the generally restrained aura of the piece.
The newer pieces on this disc are interesting, but the real fascination lies with the earlier music. The choir acquits itself very well under the direction of David Bray. Recommended.
Colin Clarke
This article originally appeared in Issue 48:5 (May/June 2025) of Fanfare Magazine.